The Hounds of Hell
by Hawki
Summary: RS Oneshot: The wages of sin were death, but the gift of argent was eternal life.


**The Hounds of Hell**

Tethering operation MTC 2216/181 was nearing completion.

This world had a name, he supposed. To him, it was designated EPL-511. One of many extra-planar locations that the UAC now relied on to meet the energy needs of humanity. Once, scientists had theorized that mankind would have to travel throughout the stars after the resources of Earth were depleted. Who among them could have guessed that the secret to mankind's salvation lay in entirely new dimensions? Who would have seriously theorized even 150 years ago that Hell was a real location, that the source of mankind's nightmares would be the key to unlimited energy?

No-one, Samuel Hayden supposed. But it didn't matter. The energy needs of his species would be met. Hell's conquest of Argent D'Nur had been the key to its expansion, assimilating worlds into its domain. Now, with Hell in the thrall of the UAC, they could do the same. The Well was theirs. The Well was their gateway to new dimensions. Argent energy had been the dawn of a new age of ascension. Mankind no longer looked to the heavens for their salvation. Instead, Hell had paved the way.

Like so many before them, the inhabitants of this realm tried to resist them. Always, they tried, and failed. Always, Hayden noticed, the denizens were superficially identical to humans. Some of his scientists had theorized that it was a natural end-point for evolution, that the human body and mind was optimally suited to allow the dominance of a species. Other, more esoteric sources, theorized that it was fate, or will, or whatever – there would always be a human species. From Argent D'Nur, to Earth, to Sicaro, to Purgato, to…whatever this world was called. A cybernetic mind had given him eidetic memory, but he couldn't even bring himself to care about what it was called right now.

So he marched forward, as the denizens of this realm fought back. Fought, fell, and failed. Their magics did nothing against his gleaming body, or the armour of the legions of UAC men and machines that marched behind him. The defenders fell, and argent receptors within their suits drained the life-force of the fallen. With shot and strike, his men did battle. With one swing after another of the Crucible, he felled the warriors of this world. This…Levitica, he recalled. To him though, it would be EPL-511. Just one of many worlds whose resources would be used to meet the needs of mankind. The greater good, he had called it, back when he felt the need to justify such things. Now though…now, the road to Hell was not paved in good intentions. Hell had led them here. Hell was a realm they no longer needed to bother with, outside sport and training.

The final fortress of Levitica had fallen. At this site of the fracture, they would ensure an energy stream would be set up to reach Mars, and be sent across the colonies. The people of Earth wouldn't ask questions, and he wouldn't give answers. A hundred years from now, maybe some curious historian would try to document this world's culture. A hundred years from now, he'd still be alive, and laugh at their efforts.

"Set it up."

His men…or machines, he could barely tell anymore…obeyed. The fracture would be tapped. There was always a fracture on each of the worlds they visited. Some scientists of both the mystic and the "hard science," had theorized that it the presence of a structure at each entry point was no accident. Always, the peoples of the worlds were drawn to the doors between dimensions, acting on the sub-conscious level. Perhaps that was what had drawn mankind to the stars in the first place. To Mars, and beyond. He supposed it could be called lucky that the tear wasn't on Earth. If so, if the breach of the last century had happened there…perhaps not even the Doom Slayer could have saved mankind. Odd, that he thought about him now. The psychopath hadn't uttered a single word, but-

A yell echoed throughout the chamber they were in. One of the defenders was still alive, unleashing the magics of his world onto his forces. He even felled some of them, their argent receptors unable to rejuvenate their bodies faster than his streams of lightning. With a heavy, mechanical sigh, Hayden strode over. With even less effort, he swung the Crucible. The man…if he could be called that, toppled over. Human or otherwise, the physiology of the specimens they encountered was always similar. Weak flesh, heavy armour. Hayden looked down at him. Looked at his eyes. Wondered for a moment, what it would be like to feel your own life force leave your body.

"We need your world's resources to survive," he said. "I don't expect you to understand."

The man spat at him. Hayden remained motionless. He didn't have to justify this, he told himself. That he felt the need at all was an unwanted weakness. The greater good had to be served.

"If you can take solace in any of this, understand that your deaths will allow billions to live."

The man didn't say anything. He just lay there, dying. Again, Hayden remembered the Slayer. The one man who could give him pause. Perhaps the one man he could respect. The man who had never strayed from his convictions, that Hell had to be overcome, not utilized, however misguided those convictions after all. But then, the Slayer meant nothing now. Hell was theirs now. Of what interest could he have in the UAC's operations?

The man spoke a single word, in his own language. An algorithm kicked in within Hayden's mind. Software so advanced that it was practically a universal translator. What had the man called him, he wondered?

He soon got his answer.

"Demons."

And, for a moment, felt something he hadn't in over a century.

Shame.


End file.
